Reliable
by MoyaKite
Summary: If there's one thing Fury can count on, it's Coulson.


If there's one thing that Fury can expect every morning, it's Coulson in a plain suit and a patient smile at the door. Coulson knows that Fury needs a cup of tea with cream disguised as coffee before he can stand to talk to anyone; he always finds the mug on his desk when he drags himself into work. He can rely on Coulson to shift meetings until after his ten minutes of solitude. He sees the world come crashing down nine days out of ten; if he can't have that first ten minutes with his goddamn tea, he knows he won't see those ten minutes for the rest of the day and into the night.

If there's one thing that Fury can expect each day at noon, it's Coulson with a snack. He knows that Fury has a secret sweet tooth; some coffee cake can keep him from knocking SHIELD heads together for another hour or two, at least. They sit down for five minutes of silence and sugar while planets explode and aliens warp into space nearby and some clown in a metal suit decides to play the hero. When it's time to get back to work, Fury can rely on Coulson to give him a quick squeeze on the upper arm and encouraging smile; Fury just claps him on the back and shouts at the slackers playing video games on the office terminals.

If there's one thing that Fury can look forward to at the end of a long day (and usually night) at SHIELD HQ, it's Coulson with a car at the ready. Coulson is his good eye. Fury's depth perception is shot, and, even though he gets by fine during the day, it's a relief not to have to worry every time an asshole cuts him off that, boom, it's curtains. Aliens can't take down Fury. He'll be damned if a bad driver is gonna send him to the pearly gates.

Once home, Fury graciously takes Coulson's coat, and they settle in front of the TV for Supernanny and takeout. Fury takes note of tactics that could be applied to grown men who _act_ like toddlers, and Coulson settles underneath Fury's arm to rest his head against his chest, where he fits best. After that, they wash up and hit the hay. Nothing in Fury's life can really be called _comfortable_, but a long soak in the tub with Coulson is the closest he's ever gotten.

If there's one thing that Fury can count on, it's Coulson.

"You have to fake my death," Coulson tells him, just after the paramedics have rushed in to save him. He coughs blood, and Fury just cups his cheek. "They need somebody to avenge."

While Coulson recovers in the most secure facility that Fury can offer, Fury takes a vial of blood and spills it on Coulson's most prized possession: those stupid, vintage cards.

"They won't buy it without a body," Coulson says into a mic that leads to a hidden earpiece attached to Fury's eyepatch.

"I'll buy you new ones," Fury says.

The next morning, SHIELD doesn't give Fury time off for bereavement even after the presumed loss of his partner of fifteen or more years, because Fury never gets days off. Especially not when aliens break New York.

He gets into work late after a fender bender in morning traffic. Coulson isn't there with his suit and smile; he's getting the life pumped back into him with better technology than modern man has to offer. There's a mug waiting on his desk—Fury quietly kills an office plant with the unbearably strong coffee.

By nine that night, no one has stopped him for lunch, and he has practically punched a hole through a screen, because if he catches Jones playing Tetris one more goddamn time—!

When he finally gets home (in a cab, since his car is now in the shop with a damaged fender that SHIELD is refusing to cover, the bastards), he stretches in front of the TV. It flickers into life, displaying Coulson with a wan smile and too many tubes coming out of his arms. His eyes are bleary, which Fury blames on the morphine.

"Welcome home," Coulson smiles. Fury smiles back, wishing he could smooth the stray hairs that are sticking to Coulson's forehead. "I'll be back in a few weeks, at this rate."

"And then we'll have to figure out how to revive you," Fury nods. The paperwork would be a nightmare.

"Is Stark giving you any trouble?" Coulson asks. He reaches unconsciously for his taser, which makes Fury chuckle.

"If by trouble you mean that he's bought an entire legion of shawarma carts." Fury rolls his eyes. "When that man gets an idea in his head…"

"Jones still slacking?"

"Every goddamn day."

"Is Banner—"

"I've got the situation well in hand," Fury says. When Coulson raises an eyebrow, Fury crosses his arms. "I could use some backup, but you're the only one worth their goddamn salt."

"Agent Hill is rather capable." Coulson's voice is gentle. "I'll be back soon, Nick."

"You're a mess." Fury puts his head in his hands. "I need my good eye back."

"I miss you, too," Coulson replies, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And it's not your fault."

"We're humans surrounded by superhumans and aliens." Fury shakes his head. "We both got into this knowing it'd be dangerous. I know that. I fucking _know_. But facing a god, Phil? Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't sign up for this shit." Fury punches the arm of the couch. "I'm not going to lose you, got that? You've got thirty days to get your ass back home where I can look after you."

"Where I can look after you," Coulson adds. He squints at a bag propped up against the corner of the couch."What's that?" he asks.

Fury grins. "Just did a little shopping," he says.

Coulson tilts his head. "Are you actually going to eat something other than takeout? I thought I was going to order you pizza and some cinnamon sticks."

Fury laughs, hauling out the bag. When he pulls aside the tissue paper bunched at the top, Coulson makes a gasp that is immensely satisfying to hear, even though the gift cost more than half of Fury's paycheck.

"That can't be," Coulson says, reaching toward the screen.

"Not just the mint condition cards," Fury replies, fanning them out on the coffee table before him. He pulls out a waxy packet and holds it up to the camera. "I got you an unopened, original booster pack."

"But those don't even _exist_ any more," Coulson says. "I checked."

"I know a guy," Fury replies, crossing his arms in front of him. "Now get better immediately. Every extra day it takes you to get better, I'm going to hide another of these somewhere, and it's gonna be a damn sight harder to find them than if you just fucking look after yourself."

Coulson just chuckles.

"Like I said." Fury forces a smile. "I need my good eye back."


End file.
